Heartless
by Kitty Kat 277
Summary: "Perhaps I do have a shrivel of what I once knew of as my heart." Scott, a survivor of the outbreak, is trying to find a way to the other side of the world, believing there is somewhere unaffected. Along the way, he meets our team of heros. R
1. Shrivel of a Heart

(**Zombieland fic time! The original idea for this story came when I watched the movie the second time. My OC? He's looking for life on other continents.)**

**(Disclaimer: I don't own Zombieland or any of its characters. I only own Scott.)**

**Heartless-Chapter One**

I stand atop the building, watching the carnage below me, the misery that follows me, the pain that has become life.

Another survivor is down there. He used to travel with me, but I don't even know his name. I don't care. Best not to get attached. I ignore his screams for help, turning away.

Its his own fault. He should have kept up with me. I would try to save him, but its useless. Thousands of zombies are coming at him now, and I have no choice but to run.

I shiver to the core when I hear him yell, "Damn you! You'll suffer in hell for this!". He breaks off into screams. Screams of the dying.

I know. I know I won't go to heaven. I've done millions of horrible things in my life.

But that's necessary here in Zombieland.

I tip my face to the sky, noting the sun setting. Time to move on.

For the past few months, weeks, years, I don't know-impossible to keep time here-I've been searching in vain for the coast. I'm trying to find a boat of some sort to cross the ocean. I'm looking for a way to get to Scotland, where my family lives-maybe _lived_. I think that America was the only place to be hit, though I'm not sure.

I wish with all my heart that I'm not the only human left on Earth who doesn't have blood dripping from their teeth.

But how much better is one who leaves another to die?

I don't know that either. I don't know anything anymore. I only know how to survive. I pull my black cloak over my shoulders, brush some dark brown hair out of my eyes, and leap off the opposite side of the building.

Cool air rushes in my face, and I land in a pose, one leg out to the side, both arms steadying me. I look up, and almost fall in surprise, but not because I see a zombie.

Someone's standing there, staring wide-eyed at me. He's a teen of scrawny build with bushy brown hair framing his face.

"Hi.", he gasps.

I attempt to dart past him, but another man, tall, thickly built Southerner, grabs me by the shirt. I punch him in the nose, desperate to get away. He grabs my fist, then barks at the kid, "Who's he?"

"D-dunno, he just…fell.", the kid stutters. The Southerner grunts in response, releasing his grip on my shirt. I dust myself off, then glare at them, taking in their appearances, looking for weak spots in case they want to fight.

"I'm-"

"No names in Z-Land, kid.", the buff guy says. I blink, and he groans.

"Do I have to explain everything? Just call yerself the name of where your going!"

"Well, I guess I'm Scotland. And you two?", I ask, aware of my flashing eyes.

"I'm Tallahassee. He's Columbus. I'm guessing your Scott. Ya know, you're the first Brit we've ever traveled with."

I think about retorting against him, then freeze.

I can hear the zombies coming through the house, groaning and wailing.

"Run if you want to live!", I roar, dashing wildly down the streets.

Tallahassee calls out two names, and two girls kick the door of a nearby house down. They're both heavily armed, and ready for action. The younger one sees me, and blinks in surprise.

"RUN!", Columbus screams, chasing after me. He's pretty damn fast. Must have good cardio.

The other three exchange glances, then race after us-right on time. The zombies break through the house, blood staining the faces of the ones who had gotten to my fallen comrade.

I race down the streets, the bushy kid always beside me. At first he annoys me, but then I start to feel protective of him, pulling him away from corners before he slams into them. He's terrified out of his mind, and I'm no better.

Perhaps I'll actually help someone, and not leave them to die.

Perhaps I do have a shrivel of what I once knew of as my heart.

**(Okay, that was a pretty good start, right?)**


	2. Hound From Hell

**(****Okay, here goes chapter two, including zombie dogs, British accents, and capes. Sounds cracky, but its actually…cracky.)**

**Heartless-Chapter Two**

I slip through the streets, always holding onto Columbus' s hand. Running like this reminds me of days in my old home in Scotland…except that when I ran then, I was being chased by my little brother, not the blood-thirsty undead.

We pass a building, and I stop, whirl, and dart for the door, which is ajar. Behind me, I hear Columbus slam into a building. He groans and slumps to the ground. The older of the two girls helps him up and gives me a death glare.

"Come on, do you _want_ to die?", I roar as Tallahassee fires at a whole row of zombies, wiping out at least forty. He laughs happily. He's actually _enjoying_ this!

The girls dart in after me, the older one holding Columbus by the arm. I scream again at Tallahassee, and he whoops and follows me in. With his help, I lock the huge steel door. I slide, back against it, and yawn.

"Well that was fun.", I smile from the floor.

"You little-"

"I'd watch my tongue if I were you! I just saved your lives!", I snarl at the older girl. She grumbles something to low for me to hear

"You're British, cool!", the smaller girl gasped. I cock my head.

"Yeah, that little asshole is Scotland.", Tallahassee said, thumping me in the back of the head. I hiss and rub the spot.

"Call me Scott.", I mutter.

"He jumped off a building.", Columbus says at random to the older girl.

"And you ran into one."

They all laugh, and I stare at them curiously. I haven't heard anyone laugh in a while. My old comrade had no sense of humor.

"So," Tallahassee stands and clasps his hands together, "intros?"

"Little Rock!", the younger girl announces.

"Wichita.", the older one says, never loosing her glare at me.

"Talla-"

"I know who you two are," I say, pointing at the bleeding Columbus and relaxed Tallahassee. They nod, and we stare at each other awkwardly.

"Um, well, we're going to be here awhile, so why don't we get to know each other a little better?", Columbus says.

"Yeah, pop a squat leprechaun.", Tallahassee says and pushes me on the floor. Everyone else follows suit. I'm surprised everyone's well enough to speak. Must face zombies often. I sigh. I've never been good at talking to people. And I sure as hell don't want them to know about me, or me to know about them. But they're all staring at me, Little Rock beaming encouragingly.

I figure that Columbus is right-there were thousands of zombies out there, and they certainly aren't leaving anytime soon. With a sigh, I give in to their little game.

"Okay. Well, I'm going to Scotland, where I used to live before I moved here. I think there are humans on other continents…hopefully. If there aren't, I'll focus on surviving.", I stop as Little Rock raises her hand. She doesn't wait for me to pick her.

"What's up with your clothes?", she asks. I stare down at my clothes, baffled. I'm wearing a white long sleeved shirt with a worn, old brown vest over it, black pants and shoes, and…oh.

"My cape? Is that what's confusing you?"

"Yeah, why a cape?", Tallahassee buts in.

"Er, well, its embarrassing…", I mumble. Wichita raises an eyebrow.

"Afraid to tell us?", she muses with a wicked smile. I can feel my blood temperature rising at the sight of her smirk. I decide I might as well tell her.

"I wear it because it makes me feel like a hero from a book I read once. He was a vegan vampire who defended humans. Happy?", I snap at Wichita. She sits back with a satisfied smile.

"Happy.", she grins.

"Okay, my turn," Columbus starts. The rest of the night lags on, filled with stories of life before the madness. Eventually, everyone nods off but me. I lay on the cold floor, wrapped in my cape, listening to the sounds of the undead scratching on the walls outside.

Several hours later, I wake up and go to the kitchen. I'm thirsty as hell, and, unfortunately, there's nothing in date to drink. The water works, but I don't trust its virus free. I sigh and sit on a stool. I stare at the room for a while, noting that an ivy plant has overgrown and is covering the wall it used to sit on.

I almost nod off, but then I hear movement. I feel the hair on the back of my neck rise, and I stare frozen at its source.

"Scott? Hey Scott?", I hear someone whisper. With an exasperated sigh, I call back, "What's wrong Little Rock?"

"Oh," she says, appearing in the darkened kitchen with me, "Just now I heard a weird noise, like someone walking, but I guess it was just you."

"Little Rock…I haven't moved.", I whisper. Her eyes and mine widen, and we stare at the shadowy corners, listening for any other noises…

…and then I hear it. A low keening noise…a demented version of my worst nightmare.

A dog.

A _zombie _dog.

It darts into the room, and Little Rock screams, hiding behind me. The dog looks horrible. Blood drips from its greenish coat, fangs long and sharp. It's eyes are huge, red, and filled with a crazy light that sends a shiver down my spine. It howls, and I almost piss my pants right there.

But I have more dignity than that.

I stand in front of Little Rock and wrench some knives out of their wooden container. The demon dog howls again, and I scream in spite of myself. However, the screech helps me, harnessing all my fear. I lash out at the dog-creature, ripping at its face with a long butcher knife.

It wails as I rip one of its eyes out. I yell in triumph, going at its ears. It narrowly misses me, and I feel its fangs gash my cape. I kick it off, and then slam my foot into its side.

"Get help!", I roar at the terrified Little Rock. She nods, skirts skittishly around the dog, and runs screaming, "DOG! SOMEONE HELP!", at her friends.

The demon dog lashes for my throat, and I punch its face, but it comes with a price-I lose my balance and fall backwards onto the floor with a thud. The dog howls with savage delight and lands on my stomach.

The mongrel is heavier than I thought. I feel the air go out of me, and the beast aims once again for my unprotected neck. I grab it by the head and slam it into the floor.

Then, thank God, Tallahassee busts in. He sees me rolling about on the ground, my attacker winning.

"Move your foreign ass if you wanna live!", he screams. I roll under the kitchen table, and the dog, busy chasing me, howls and begins to run, but is shot down quickly by Tallahassee. It snarls, then howls a long, savage howl that strikes fear into my heart. It slumps heavily to the ground, and the only noise is my own hyperventilating.

They're all staring at me, holding my knees, rocking back and forth under the table like some kind of two-year-old. I control my breathing, then smile weakly.

"I think I forgot to say I'm scared of dogs."

**(On that note, we leave everyone to their business. Liking it so far? I know it moves kind of fast.)**


End file.
